


Bad Habits

by halfabagoffritos



Series: Hashtag Ohana [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfabagoffritos/pseuds/halfabagoffritos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a Big Wheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kesdax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesdax/gifts).



> kesdax's latest prompt - "FRITOS: Out of all the people they thought the kid would pick up bad habits from, none of them expected it to be him. ONE HOUR. 750 WORDS. GO."

It starts with a Big Wheel.

The thing is kind of Bear’s nemesis, considering how many times Parisa’s nearly clipped his tail with her scootering around the subway. It also turns out to be everyone else’s eventual enemy, starting with Root.

She thought she’d just catch a nap during the scant amount of downtime in possession of which she finds herself. The cot isn’t the most comfortable resting spot, but they’ve yet to convince Harold to install a couch — let alone the fully-stocked entertainment center Shaw had tried to finagle out of him. It’s better than the floor, at least, and Root stretches out on her back with a blanket draped haphazardly over her legs.

She’s maybe a half-step from peaceful slumber when she hears distant rumbling of something rolling against concrete, but she blocks it out with reasonable success. At least, until the cot suddenly jolts and her eyes fly open and she has to grip either side to keep from flying off.

And there bedside is Parisa’s grinning face, along with the rest of her sitting astride that Big Wheel. “Woot!” she cries and throws her hands up. “I smash!”

Root shakes a hand through her hair and sighs, unable to stop the smile from curling her lips. “Yes, Parisa, you smashed.”

So much for that nap.

* * *

Parisa is just barely ten years old when she approaches Finch at his desk one day to ask for a clothing allowance, hand outstretched expectantly.

He turns in his chair to face her fully. “I’m sorry…?”

Her eyebrows arch, eerily reminiscent of Shaw, but instead of replying she just juts her hand further toward him.

"I’m certain Miss Shaw has kept you properly attired," he says, then darts a glance around the subway like he’s desperately searching for any possible escape route.

Indeed, she’s already dressed quite smartly in her private school’s formal uniform — a green plaid skirt and white blouse, both crisply pressed. Granted, it’s not exactly leisurewear but Finch puzzles over just why someone so young would need an allowance strictly to purchase additional entries to her wardrobe.

Apparently he’s able to dissuade her somehow, because after a brief staring contest, Parisa huffs and stalks off, muttering something about itchy, ill-fitting shirts. Finch can only eyeball the clock on one monitor and hope that Root returns from her current day job with haste.

A half hour later, Finch is proverbially chin-deep in dictating data on their latest number over the phone to Shaw when he hears a strange shuffling from behind him. He turns, already dreading what shenanigans Parisa could have gotten into this time, and finds what is  _probably_  her reaching out a hand — or rather, one firmly ensconced in a sleeve that’s entirely too long for her arms — to pat Bear’s waiting head. He can’t know for certain given the black ski mask covering her head, and too-large suit draping her, but there aren’t too many other possibilities given their location.

And then the realization hits like a dump truck. He knows that suit. His money has purchased many, many copies of that same suit. “Oh Parisa…” he whispers, already running through his head just how he’s going to explain this turn of events to both Shaw and Reese.

_"What?"_  he hears Shaw ask over the line.  _"What’s she into now?"_

Finch swivels back in his chair. “We’ll discuss once you’ve finished the mission, Miss Shaw.”

* * *

Not even a week later, Reese finds himself stuck on Ris-watching duty while Finch teaches a class. And Root and Shaw are…wherever they are, doing whatever it is they do when they don’t have a number or kid to mind. Babysitting is kind of boring for the both of them, though, with no tv or video games or something to occupy her while he cleans his guns, but she doesn’t seem to mind sitting quietly still and just watching while he goes through the motions anyway with a rag.

"Reese."

So much for quiet. He glances up at her with raised eyebrows. “Ris?” he intones with usual husk.

She clears her throat once, then twice, before replying in a deeper tone than before, “Reese.”

Well, now he’s just confused. He wonders if this is some new game she likes to play with everyone, some kind of…repitition thing. Might as well play along. “…Ris?”

She hitches forward slightly in her chair, staring into his eyes. “Reese,” she says yet again. Or growls, more like.

He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to just ask what she’s playing at, before it dawns on him. He leans back, lips curving into a satisfied grin. “Wanna learn how to clean a gun?”

Her cheeks puff out, her eyes narrow…and then she nods. “Yes.”

* * *

Finch calls a team meeting, the first of possibly many, he insists much to Shaw’s chagrin. Something about reviewing their “Ris-oriented schedule now that she’ll be transitioning to middle school,” but Shaw thinks their current ‘schedule’ has been working out pretty well. Plenty of time for them to work cases, especially since they brought Fusco fully into the fold several years ago, as well as downtime for whatever nonsense Root gets them up to. Among other things.

Nevertheless, Shaw stretches out on the floor and uses Bear as a willing pillow while they wait for Fusco to show up. Reese leans nonchalantly, as always, against a wall and stares at his non-mesh-network phone. Finch is at his desk, as always, tapping away. Root’s perched delicately on the edge of the cot, and Shaw definitely ignores all those coded glances she’s sending her way.

And Ris is…somewhere nearby, Shaw’s sure, but her kid is somehow stealthier than all of them combined when she wants to be.

Heavy footsteps announce Fusco’s arrival, and sure enough he slams through the gate seconds later while mid-chomp on a hot dog. He waves with the other, and it’s enough of a prompt for Reese tuck his phone back into a pocket and Finch to swivel in his chair with a stack of papers clutched in his hands.

But no one can utter so much as a word before, “INTRUDER!” erupts in a battlecry from around the subway car, and Ris jumps out from the shadows and fires at Fusco, hitting him square in the kneecaps with red-colored water.

Fusco jumps back as agilely as he can, and drops the remainder of his lunch in the process with a yelped, “Are you kidding me?” He brushes at his pants, but the color already looks to be setting in forever. “This was a new suit!” He turns to look at Reese. “Did you teach her this?”

"Of course not, Lionel," Reese replies with a shrug.

Shaw hears the deep-throated chuckle lacing his voice, and she joins him in more vocal amusement. “Gotta admit, kid’s got good aim.”

Finch sighs with a shake of his head. “And here I was worried about the prospect of raising a miniature version of you, Miss Shaw.”

Shaw directs her next smirk to Root, who returns it with narrowed eyes. “Could be worse,” she says. “Could’ve been Root.”

Oh, she’ll be in trouble later tonight for that comment.


End file.
